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by Subtle_Shenanigans



Series: Dissassociation [35]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguity, Creepy, Don’t copy to another site, Friendship, Gen, Horror, Hotels, Maybe - Freeform, Psychological Horror, Spooky, Waking Up, no beta we die like men, platonic, so here we are I guess, trigger warnings for sense of being lost and trapped, unknowns - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: In the halls they are going,nothingness ever growing.What is there to fearwhen the darkness can’t become clear?It wasn’t really the first time any of them had been on vacation, waking, groggy from sleep.It was, however, the first time that they couldn’t remember if they had actually gone on vacation or not.——————Short story that will be continued but may never be finished.





	1. Disorient

**Author's Note:**

> I got this vague idea while ago, and since hotels give me really bad anxiety due to trauma I’ve blocked out (it’s only when I’m in them) I thought it would be good for a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more flat than I wanted but my brain has still been mush.
> 
> Really OOC too but that’s to be expected in this situation XD.

       The room is. . .nice.

     That’s the first thing he notices, once the veil of sleep is pulled away.

     He pulls himself up into a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes; there’s the distinct absence of Amy, only cool sheets greet him. Had she gotten up already for the day? Although, usually he woke up first.

    But. . .he looks at his surroundings. Lavish wallpaper and gently crafted wood; much, much fancier than Mark would have liked. If they were on vacation then circumstances would have changed. Maybe Amy had gotten up earlier than him. Where had they gone again?

     He didn’t see any of his bags he usually brought. Nor Amy’s. And it was quiet, hushed. He got up gingerly, slowly trying to work through his thoughts - it felt like wading through thick mud.

    The lights were on and there were no windows in the room, nor clocks, so he wasn’t sure if it _was_ actually morning or not.

   What the hell was going on?

    Making his way to the bathroom, he felt his feet sink into plush carpet. He glanced around but didn’t see his shoes.

    He didn’t see anything of his, at all.

    Just. . .empty bed, disruffled from him getting up, a presumably empty armoire, a blank bedside table-

    Upon entering the bathroom it wasn’t any different. There was a sink, shower, and toilet (and toilet paper, thankfully), but not a single towel or toothbrush or-

    Mark paused, confusion growing.

    On the wall above the sink there was a blank space where a mirror could have been.

* * *

     “Okay, So, I’m in a hotel, alone, I don’t know how I got here and as far as I can tell, it’s empty,” Mark mutters to himself as he crosses through a muffled hallway. “Lessee, which number is this? 230? Mine is 430, but this one is. . .” He trails off, squinting at the number across the way. “012? That doesn’t make any sense.”

    _Not that anything has been_ , he thought sourly.

    After leaving his room, he found that the only way to descend was by elevator, which, fortunately, worked. It’s only option was a single button, which Mark thinks _may_ have brought him down a level.

    He wasn’t too worried about getting back to his room, though; so far all the doors down here had been unlocked and each room was empty, all similar echoes to one another, but not fully the same. If he _really_ needed to rest or use the bathroom, well, there were plenty of rooms available.

    He wasn’t sure what sorta twilight zone BS he’d been pulled into, but he sure as hell was gonna get out.

     He pulled away from his thoughts and suddenly felt disoriented. Which way had he been going?

    The hall didn’t have an answer, the lights merely buzzing all the same.

    After some hesitation and soft swearing he started forward in _some_ direction, and then stopped.

     There was the sound of a door clicking shut.

   He barreled into the opposite direction, panting harshly as he turned down one of the other halls, nearly falling as he rounded the corner.

    “ _Wait!_ ”

    He spun around as he heard _another_ door, this time slamming shut, and get his feet tangled. The resulting _thud_ into the carpet was as painful as it sounded. He struggled to get up, looking up and down, but the hallway remained unchanged.

    He bit out a short curse, wanting to snarl. He was suddenly _so_ frustrated.

    Mark got up, grumbling to himself. His irritation was fast fading, and the trickle of anxiety was quickly setting back in. Was anyone else here? Was this an elaborate prank? A kidnapping?

     ~~ _Was he still asleep?_~~

 ~~~~“Doesn’t matter,” he eventually settled on, “I just need to focus on getting out. Amy is probably worried sick. And Chica and Henry,” he added the last part with a small smile. They were always so happy to see him when he’s been gone for the day.

 

    He decides to continue on, though he’s starting to feel more disoriented; he can’t remember when he’s changing direction or which way he’s facing. He feels himself growing tired but he has no concept of how long he’s been wandering.

     _It’s like drifting. . ._

 

  “Mark!”

   There’s a moment of panic; he’s ready to bolt. This is wrong, wro _ng wrong wrong get away_ -

   There’s a thud as someone slams him to the floor, grappling with him as he fights against it. Nothing makes sense suddenly and all he knows is _get away_.

    “Mark! _Stop it_! It’s me! Ow, _dammit_!”

    Pinned down, he looks up, ready to curse out his attacker, but pauses in confusion.

    He. . .he knows this person.

    “. . .?”

    Thin and lanky, concerned eyes behind his glasses. The name is on the tip of his tongue, and if he could just reach. . .

    The guy starts talking, babbling about something but all Mark hears is the pulse in his ears as he struggles to remember, and it’s pressure building because he can feel it in his sinuses and it’s getting hard to breathe-

    All at once it’s like a cork popping off of a bottle, and the pressure lessens until there’s total _relief_.

    And with relief, remembrance.

    “. . .Ethan?”


	2. Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I never mentioned it last chapter but Mark is in Pjs with no shoes; a white Markiplier holographic logo tee and the Markiplier pj pants. No one has shoes. You can understand why these people are paranoid.

   There’s nothing but a sharp inhale to puncture the absolute silence.

    Ethan awakens on the bathroom floor with a gasp, the light flickering with a noisy buzz and sending the room into rapid flashes of white-blue and darkness.

    He groans as he sits up, a headache roaring to life; there’s a distinct crunch of broken something as he moves. When he manages to focus past the pain, he notices the shattered shards digging into him and scattered across the floor.

    Glass. Shards of a mirror.

    He looks up towards the sink and sure enough, there’s no mirror. Just an empty, mocking space as though the mirror had never been.

     Huh.

     He pulls himself up (he’s only in boxer shorts and a white tank, why?) and knows immediately that something is just . . . wrong.

    Where’s his girlfriend? His dog? Hell, his own bathroom? If he’d fallen or had an accident, surely someone would have heard and helped. And . . . this wasn’t a bathroom he recognized. So he wasn’t at a friends. And surely he’d remember if he had booked a vacation?

    He manages to get to his feet (and where are his shoes? Slippers?), and shakes the glass off as best as he can. Surprisingly, he doesn’t have any cuts or irritation from the shards.

    The door is a little stuck, but after a good yank, Ethan heaves it open. The room before him is blank, unassuming.

    Nothing of his, or anyone else’s for that matter; it’s merely an empty, photocopy of a nondescript hotel room. 

    “. . . what the hell is going on?” Ethan mutters in disbelief.

     He carefully checks through the room, but it’s void of anything useful besides the bedsheets; he checks for something to indicate the time, but there’s neither window nor clock. And of course, he can’t find his phone.

    “That’s spooky.”

    Ethan sits on the bed, taking a moment. He tries to reach for memories, but the closest he can recall is editing one of his videos the night before(?).

    He’s shaken from thought at the loud sound of a door slamming on its hinges. It’s muffled by his own closed door.

    Before he can get up to check, he hears rattling.

    Someone is trying his door, but it’s locked.

    He races up, shouting, “Wait!” But by time he manages to get the door open ( _it wasn’t locked?_ ), he’s greeted by an empty hallway.

    Ethan stands there, nothing but his own, quiet breathing to be heard. His heart is pounding and there’s a vague sense of vertigo.

    And then he hears an elevator open.

    He’s off like a shot.

    The doors slam shut quite a few feet before he makes it; slamming his hands on the door does nothing except make his hands sting. He grits his teeth, frustrated.

    _Something is effing with me, isn’t it?_

    There’s no answer to the thought but silence. With a heavy breath, Ethan stress himself, and makes his way through the halls.

* * *

    He had no idea which room had been his, not that it mattered. Most of the doors remained locked to him, but the ones that did open were merely replicas turned at different angles.

    There was no food, either, though the taps did spurt out clear water. He wasn’t hungry yet but he didn’t assume he would never be.

    Why was he here, anyways? Had he been kidnapped? Or dreaming? But, there was such a _realness_ that he doubted he was dreaming. Drugged, maybe? The halls did keep looking weird, like they were shifting and warping around him. And, the noises. . .

echoing, hints of voice(s)?

something, like shouting but far below and far away. . .

and, even more distantly-

 

   Wait. One of the sounds was _close_.

    “Wait!” He yelled, sprinting down the hall; he was never more thankful for his gymnastic background as he turned corners smoothly. Then, he saw-

   “Mark!!!”

    But when Mark turned there was no recognition, no familiarity; it was wild and empty and scared. And - oh _shi_ -

    Mark was ready to run. So Ethan did the only thing he could think of.

   He tackled him.

    Not his best idea, as Mark was more stocky and stronger than him; but Ethan was more flexible, and more determined.

    He managed to pin Mark down, shouting incoherences and, eventually, muttering reassurances and familiarities. Eventually, Mark calmed down, and his eyes cleared of confusion.

    “. . .Ethan?”

    Said person slumped in relief. “Mark,” he breathed, then rolled off. They were both sweaty from their struggle, and Ethan especially was breathing harshly.   

    “Are you okay?” He manages to squeeze out.

    “I . . . dunno. . .” Mark’s brow furrows together and he seems lost. “It’s . . .woke up and nothing seemed right?”

    Ethan hums. “Same. This place doesn’t seem to make much sense.”

     They lay there on the floor, quiet for the time being.

    Eventually, Mark breaks the silence as Ethan sits up. “Do you think anyone else is here?”

    Ethan gets to his feet and offers his hand. “Let’s find out.” 


	3. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys ready for Wade’s chapter?!?!
> 
> Can’t say I have his personality down pat but dang it I’m gonna try.
> 
> Not as spooky as I wanted but hey! It’s done ^u^. And that’s still an accomplishment!

    To Wade, waking up was nothing more than the discomforting realization that he was lying on cold concrete.

    He pushed himself into a sitting position, confusion marring his features. The world was awash in hard-stone gray slightly tinged blue. It looked like a parking garage, those kind that were concrete and dipped underground, but it was completely empty.

    “Guys?” He called out tentatively. Surely this was a prank, right? 

    Except. . .he couldn’t recall if anyone had mentioned coming to town, and Molly wasn’t the sort to pull pranks. Not like _this_ at least.

    He managed to get up, wincing at the dull echo of his clothing crinkling. He rubbed his arms, chilled, and looked around again. “. . .guys?”

    No answer.

    Had he been kidnapped?

    Sudden panic overtook him and he froze, starting to hyperventilate; was he going to be murdered? Ransomed? _Worse_?

    _Get a hold of yourself, Wade!_

    His breathing hitched. Was that thought in his voice, or one of his friends?

   It seemed to do the trick regardless; he found himself calming down, and trying to take the situation in.

    There’s nothing here; not a single car, or person. Not even a piece of trash. It was just. . .empty, except for Wade himself.

    So, maybe not a kidnapping?

    But then why was he here?

    It was. . .pretty unsettling, to be honest. Not a car in sight. Just the drone of electric lights to accompany him. Wade decided to try and leave, since he wasn’t restrained and didn’t seem to be injured. 

    Hopefully this was just a really crappy prank being played by one of the a-holes he calls friends.

    At least the floor seemed to incline; probably sloping up towards the exit. The arrow on the wall pointing up was fairly worn down, but had probably been reapplied not too long ago - so at least Wade knew the structure wasn’t super old and ready to crumble.

    He made his way up, but didn’t notice much difference. Come to think of it, shouldn’t the levels be named or tagged or something?

   He follows the curve around the bend, along the same path a car would take but at a much slower rate. 

    One, two, four, seven. . . Although he could see the slight differences in the levels, they all tended to blend in with one another. 

   And there was still no indication that he was above ground.

    Shouldn’t he have seen some openings by now?

     Or cars?

      _Something_?

    It was like. . .it felt like how in some games, although the rooms changed you were really still standing in one place; no sense of actually movement forward or back.

    He came to a jarring halt suddenly.

    “What the _eff_?” His horrified whisper rang out.

    This floor looked just like the one he had woken up on; he didn’t know how he knew, but he just. . . _did_.

    _Something is really, really wrong here_.

    He took a shuddering step back; Wade suddenly turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, following the slope down.

    He passed back through familiar levels, but they were now out of order; surely the one with the bent pole had been the second level, not the last he had passed through? The walls with the webbing cracks; the one with the dripped paint; the one with no arrow - _it was all just wrong_!

    Wade came to a halt, hands on his knees and panting, trying not to vomit. “Oh god,” he wheezed, “oh god. What the hell?”

      _This isn’t a prank or a kidnapping - I might be dreaming but I sorta doubt it._

    The buzz of the lights continued to drone on.

    What _had_ he been doing before this? He was in a white shirt and jeans; had he woken up early in the morning? Was getting ready for bed?

    He patted himself down, but he had nothing of any use on him; a single penny forgotten in one of the jean pockets, but no phone.

     Wade felt tears spring up in his eyes and wiped them away. Distraught as he was, he needed to focus. Not reel from his own fear.

    “C’mon, I got this.” His voice echoed quietly, but gave him a sort of ease. “I’ve faced Barbara for eff’s sake; I can deal with. . . I can get through this, uh, hallucination? Crazy trip?”

    No answer, save his own echo on the walls.

   Wade stood up straighter. 

   “I’ve played scarier games than this,” he said, louder, trying to bolster some bravery. He was still shaking, but he felt some confidence returning.

    When it came down to it, Wade was no coward.

    “I’ll go up again; I probably just missed an exit.” If there was one.

    Walking back along the path he had come from, he tried to ease himself. After all, he was alone, so at least that meant no person or monster was about to harm him, right?

   Though the isolation still took a toll in its own way; the hair on the back of his neck creeping up, ready for some sound or danger to alert him.

    By time he had passed through his initial room (was this the third round? The fifth?) he had begun to ease, at least a little. Suspense could only last so long, after all.

    And then, a noise broke the silence and sent Wade reeling to the ground, backing up and blubbering in a panic.

   But when he got to his feet, fists clenched and teeth bared, ready for a fight, there was no one there.

   Just an elevator.

   “. . .that, uh, hadn’t been there before. . .”

    Wade inched towards it. Stopped.

    What if it was a trap? A trick?

 

 

    . . .what if it was his only way out?

     Wade made forward again. Hesitated. Went back and forth, faltering.

    He couldn’t stay down here forever. And whatever was happening, it prevented him from finding an exit the conventional way.

    But he sure as hell didn’t want to take the elevator it seemed to be directing him to.

      _Should I. . .?_

    He was getting cold standing there; there was no warmth among the concrete. And. . .the elevator didn’t look too bad, considering.

    The doors started to slide shut.

    And without prompting, Wade’s body made a decision.

    Within the next moment he was leaning against the rail in the elevator as the doors closed and gravity pulled down on him.

    He was going up.

    


	4. Corridor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Bob’s chapter!!! 
> 
> The ending might cut off a bit but at least I finished!!! I may leave the ending ambiguous or write a follow up eventually. It’s. . .not really a spooky chapter. Whoops.
> 
> Most of my understanding of Bob, like Wade, comes from Collabs. I did watch some of his FNAF series though so that might help!! (And funnily enough I mentioned FNAF in this chapter ages ago when I first started it XD.)
> 
> One last thing: look, when I mention Bob as a big dude I’m not talking about his weight in any negative light. Rather, I mean the fact that I wouldn’t be surprised if he could lift and chuck Mark a good distance away. So while I have no idea of his IRL strength, just assume he’s real strong here.

    Bob’s return to consciousness was taken in the same stride as any surprise.

   Fear and anxiety were held onto, internally; he wasn’t stoic but rather inactive from the outside, even if he was internally swearing.

   Because there _was_ an internal, constant monologue as fear stung down to his fingertips.

   He woke up alone in a cold, brightly lit room.

    A _locked_  room.

   It looked like some sort of laundry room, though lacking any clothing or washable materials. There were washers and dryers, and a roll-cart, but not much else. It was oddly bright.

   The door merely stayed stuck in place when he tried it.

    Bob blew air out sharply. “Okay then.”

   Luckily, he wasn’t a little shrimpy boy like Ethan; all it took was a good stance and yank, and whatever bolt held it in place snapped easily enough.

   The door creaked, oddly enough, and it seemed as if the hallway was even brighter than the room, although a more mellow, yellow glow. He left the dim(?) room behind and entered into-

    The door was shut behind him as though never opened, not that he noticed. The rug was fancy red and gold over the beige carpet, and there were doors lining the walls.

   Not many, that he could see.

   In fact, Bob only saw three. One closest to the left, further down to the right, and lastly on the left again. There was a T-junction at the end of the hallway.

   And he would have sauntered that way if he hadn’t felt something like cold dread tug at his thoughts.

   Turning behind himself, he saw a set of stairs going down, next to the door he had just entered from.

   Bob went down the stairs.

   Bob was clever, a jokester; even if his humor ran more on realism and bending the Known, rather than spontaneous like some of his friends. That’s why he got along with them so well, actually.

    He reacted when _he_ felt he should, rather than impulsively. Timing was everything.

   (There were, of course, times when things got the jump on him.)

   So while he may seem to any observer that he was blasé about the whole thing, he wasn’t.

   Not by a long shot.

    _‘Holy effin’ son of a b— ‘_

   “What the actual eff?”

    Bob was confronted with a door.

   A very official looking door, locked and bolted. The eerie unfamiliarity of his situation seeped into the cracks, sending energy coursing through his bones.

   He very much so wanted to run. Flee. Scream as he did so.

   But he was rooted to the spot.

    It seemed like a decision was made for him as his hand lifted and turned the knob. Did he think to do that? Did he _want to_?

    It didn’t matter, as then he was walking in, and the door slammed shut behind him.

   His face became bathed in light blue.

    . . .It was a security monitor.   
  
    Or, more actually, multiple security monitors.

   He seemed to be in a control room.

   “. . .huh.”

    He wanted to say hundreds of monitors, but probably just fifty. Sixty? Forty? It was hard to estimate, for some reason.

   It was nothing like FNAF; these were serious, high-tech security, in color. There were dozens, no, scores of buttons, lit a dim yellow. The only ones different were an upright rectangular one and-

   His vision flickered upwards, and he felt a jolt as he saw Mark on one screen, streaking down hallways and onto other screens.

   He seemed panicked.

   “Wait!”

    But of course, Mark couldn’t hear him. In frustration, Bob slammed a hand down, catching the edge of a button.

   A door swung open, and then closed.

    Mark onscreen froze, then raced towards the sound.

   . . .oh. _Oh_.

    Bob tried another one, but didn’t notice any results.

   Then he saw Ethan appear out of a door.

   So they did different things?

   He set to testing them. “Just like a sound board, Bob. Just gotta learn the buttons,” he muttered to himself.

   Most seemed to open and close the doors, others. . .unlock them? It was hard to tell as sometimes doors still opened of their own accord.   
      
    By time Ethan had caught Mark, Bob was clicking things by instinct. He relaxed as they met up. _Good, maybe we can-_

    That’s when he noticed the basement levels on screen, and Wade wandering in them, seemingly panicked.

    Bob swore, trying out buttons before he realized that the car garage had no doors.

    _Think!_

    Maybe . . .the elevator?

    His fingers were slick with sweat, but he managed to catch and press on the rectangular one. After all, that had to be the elevator, right?

     He startled when he heard the loud echo of a rickety elevator through the wall to his right. There must have been another elevator. He let out a breath as he heard it travel downwards.

    His fingers darted, dancing across the buttons without thought. For the most part, nothing really seemed to happen on screen besides a few startled flinches from Mark and Ethan.

    After ages, he saw Wade appear. It was, of course, the wrong floor, although Bob had no idea how he knew.

      _C’mon c’mon. You can do it, guys._

     Wade eventually rounded a corner. Appeared on a completely different screen. Ethan and Mark appeared on one two rows away.

    Bob was ready to press another button, when he saw them all startle and ripple across the monitors, eventually ending up on the same one.

    Wade ran into them as they ran to him, hugging one another tightly.

    Bob deflated, relieved.

    “Oh, _thank god_.” 

     Standing up straight once more, his fingers flew to the buttons, eyes flickering across the screens. “Okay, just a little more, you guys. . .”

     It may have been moments, or minutes, or hours; Bob didn’t know.

    On the screen, they were at the stair well.

    Time to make his exit.

    The whole place felt empty besides that of his friends, but he also felt like someone was pulling the strings along side him. There weren’t even reflections to accompany him, but there was _something_  - from the cameras watching, to the elevators, even down to the thread count of the sheets.

    They were not alone. Not in the slightest.

    But they’d figure it out. He knew they would.

    The steps echoed, old metal that couldn’t be muted by the carpet or walls. He hurried down them, hoping that they’d still be there, that whatever else was here didn’t lead them away -

 

     “ ** _Bob!_** ”

 

 

 

 

       They would figure this out. Together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _might_ do a sequel or write in a similar vein later.
> 
> How the buttons work; there’s rows and columns. Each row is a different affect, each column is a different door/floor. The screens are in no order of any sort.
> 
> Also, no, Bob was not solely in control of what was going on :P.


End file.
